


wait on you

by MacKyleMore



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: M/M, Mid 1800s vibes. lets be a lighthouse keeper Boyz, Suicidal Ideation, i promise the second chapter doesnt end it in Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24399817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacKyleMore/pseuds/MacKyleMore
Summary: The salt it seeps into the pores of my open skin
Relationships: Forde/Kyle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Surrender of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> started this, started like 5 paragraphs of this MONTHS ago then i abandoned it bc i hate all my writing BUT im bored and i only allow myself to write if im sad enough and its boohoo hours so im just gonna finish it while i regardless of intelligability bc i like concepts but not my actual execution. im surprised i remember the actual way i wanted to take this

The joints in his legs hurt; They always do when the sky is overcast in such dark colors. Back when he lived in the village, the townsfolk's elders would say old age told them a storm was on the horizon. Kyle's not all that old, not _physically_. But maybe the solitude this life has dealt him wants to tell his mentality otherwise. And the trek to the top of his tower doesn't do much to help the growing stiffness in his bones, either.

Rarely does the eye of the storm come so close as it did last night.

The air outside-- dry and tasteless-- chokes Kyle's lungs like the soot in the burner. Fishing isn't his favorite thing to do; He much prefers hunting game on land. The meat tastes better in his opinion, and it fills you up more, too. But after such a strong blow from nature, he would be more likely to find hearty life off of land rather than on it.

Not too far from his living quarters, Kyle casts a thin line. All he needs is enough for tonight-- and maybe tomorrow. With the storm blown over, his resources won't keep as well in the humidity that is sure to follow.

The _act_ of fishing itself however isn't too much trouble, even if sea food isn't his favorite. He dislikes being cooped up in the two-room shack at the foot of the lighthouse, anyway. Getting an excuse to go out and move is the only form of leisure he gets.

Kyle probably won't even _need_ to fish now; more supply stocks are usually due by now. But maybe, after such a strong storm; Maybe they will run a little later than usual.

Somewhere along the course of all this, the messengers stopped greeting Kyle at the foot of his door and instead started dropping the goods off without a word or trace that they ever even came by. 

_It makes Kyle wonder if he could hopefully retire from this job sooner rather than later_.

The sun in the water is near-blinding, so he takes a moment to rest his eyes until he feels a catch on his hook. He can't even enjoy as much, because something's biting in minutes. The weight feels average in size, and he has no difficulty reeling it in. 

Kyle was going to eat tonight. _Simple as that._ Somedays he wished he wouldn't; Maybe starving doesn't sound like such a miserable thing. Madness would hit like the waves during high-tide, but it hits _anyways_ when you have been tending to a house all alone for two years now. The _least_ he could get is some sort of escape from it all.

After he feels he has caught enough, he begins to gather his belongings. The stone-white sand that a normal traveler would see as blinding is normal to him; So when he sees a much brighter, more _fractal_ reflection in the piled sand's glow, he almost mechanically follows the glint.

It's a glass bottle, and in the minutes Kyle was fishing he wonders how he hasn't noticed it; With gleams of light bouncing off such an in-tact object. 

The surface is warm to the touch and still fairly rough, indicating it's no old message. In the beginning Kyle almost remarked at how broken shards of glass or disregarded metals would smoothen under the salt water's pressure.

Nowadays, Kyle knows it is more unlikely to find something _un_ touched wash up.

Not once has he seen a bottle such as this; Not on his own shore.

Shakily, Kyle brings his hand to the cork on the top. His tendons hurt from the humidity in the air, and he can't get a good enough grip to pull it out. 

Kyle realizes it won't budge; Not trying to open it like _this,_ anyway. Clammy and wet, it keeps slipping out of his grasp.

Instead he tries using his teeth; And the whole time he's biting it he considers how much bacteria is on the thing. _How many shipwrecked soldier's remains swam in the same waters as it has._

Maybe he will fall ill from them and die.

_Maybe._

**_...Hopefully_.**

Agh... This isn't working, either. The pressure the water put on it is sealing it shut; so Kyle sighs and decides he can wait until he gets home to open it.

He gathers his materials, and makes his way up the rocky coast. It's so empty; So desolate. More times than not, while climbing the rocks: Kyle considers ending it all and throwing himself off of them.

Today, he toys with this idea as well.

Kyle doesn't have the resolve yet again, either. _Maybe after one or two more years of this,_ he prays.

Everyday as he's overlooking the gray torment of a sky, Kyle recalls scripts from his childhood; Words from travelers. _The sea is a beautiful, romantic thing._ _Bittersweet, calming._

That's what he was told. 

How foolish all that had been. All that poetic talk... was nothing more than empty words and thoughtless beliefs.

Unless you spend uncountable days in nothing but pure solitude on it, _Kyle doesn't want to hear false admirations about the ocean._

It's not like he _will_ , though. Kyle hasn't heard the sound of another person's voice in _oh_ -so-long.

In fact, Kyle hasn't even heard his _own_ voice in long enough that he doesn't remember what he _himself_ sounds like. At first, being alone had him talking to himself every second of everyday; But now he isn't even sure if he knows whatever language the people-- _miles and miles away--_ still speak.

No one; No one ever in the world could _ever_ understand the true meaning of the word _'solitude.'_ No one. _N_ _o one except Kyle._

Storing the small amounts of fish he caught after he's finished hanging up his coat; Kyle throws himself onto a rickety old chair with a pocket knife in his hand. After using a tool, the small cork in the bottle he had found seems to let up easier on its grasp.

_Kyle has gotten it open._

He fishes the paper contained inside of it out with the sharpest side of his knife and unwinds the coil. Curled and taught; It won't lay straight on his desk. So Kyle has to keep the paper flat by pinning the bottom half down with his lower arm.

\----------

_To whomever this may find,--_

_Last night, the wrath of God showed itself to me. Perhaps I am being punished; For all that I have done and for all that I may have set out to do._

_As I write, a leak that worked its way into the stomach of my vessel floods the floor minute by minute. I am unsure as to how much longer I have before I am taken with my own ship._

_\----------_

The lettering-- Which started out smooth and closely-knit-- Grows sporadic and unaligned as Kyle slides his arm down the sheet so he can read it further.

Kyle _can_ still follow human communication, he notes; Able to understand it even with how shakey the penmenship grows.

\----------

_From here, I am no longer in control of my own life. There is no longer anything I can do to protect myself._   
  
_I am unable to bring the supplies this village needs. I have failed. Had I timed my rest at a more appropriate hour, perhaps I could have prevented this from occuring. I have failed._

_At the very least-- As a single-handed sailor-- No one other than myself shall be swept away by this water's current._

_It is selfish, I have failed._

_However, as selfish as it may be; If a single soul manages to ever come across the words I write in my final hour:_

_I have but one wish for you; Don't forget the people you love._

_And please, even if it is just but one person to re-live my last night, **please do not forget me.**_

_\----------_

...Kyle suddenly wishes-- After having read the note-- That he _wasn't_ still able to comprehend words and writing.

At the bottom, there is no signing of a name. _No date at the top._ Just a wrinkle in the paper from water damage.

Maybe the salt water got a hold of it; Maybe the person who sent the message out was so deeply saddened and full of fear that they wept onto the sheet.

And maybe, the words moved Kyle to tears as well.

...Had he put a little more fuel in the light, tended to it a bit longer, maybe the glare would have been enough to bring this ship in. Because Kyle knows, even with no date on the note, judging by the state of the bottle; This letter was composed _last night_ in the hands of someone who knew their life was ending.

Kyle cannot help but blame himself.

Kyle.

_Has failed._

* * *

Within the months that follow, Kyle checks the telegraphs almost obsessively. For any sign of a ship that might have made it into port; For any news on ones that _didn't_.

Nothing; Over the span of time he checks. No news; No updates. 

After about seven months of checking in both the morning and night daily, for the sole purpose of a lost ship with one crewmate; _Kyle finally gives up on finding out any information._

But Kyle vows to himself that he won't think of ever throwing himself into the tossing tide or starving to death ever again. Kyle won't let another person die from his lack of ability. Even if not _physically_ , this job **_still kills him._**

As it turns out... Kyle _wasn't_ the only person in the world who understood the meaning of the word _'solitude'._ The soul who so hastily, messily, and emotionally wrote out their final thoughts had to feel _just_ how Kyle feels.

_Alone on the waters. **Alone in dying.**_

No. Kyle, _**wasn't,** the only person in the world who understood the meaning of the word 'solitude.'_

He was wrong in thinking that before.

But _now,_ Kyle is certain he is **once again** alone.


	2. Time to Rearrange With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyle Fire Emblem can have Little a Mercury Poisoning, as a treat
> 
> *writes a self indulgent fordekyle * *spins the fordekyle wheel* alright which one of u gets to be the Dumb-sel in Distress this time *lands on He Green Boy* ok looks like its ur turn

Lunch in his hand, Forde eats outside while he knows the weather will be nice.

A few clouds are coming in, so he knows it won't last _too_ long. But, while he can enjoy the breeze and bustle of the port-town; He takes advantage of it.

_Ten years_. Not much in this town has changed, since the day he landed here. The cry of seagulls and children playing on the docks became something he fell in love with instantly. 

Ten years ago, Forde only just managed to slip from the hands of death.

The faint scent of bread drifting through the air from a bakery down the street; The acceptance and loving attitude of the housewives he calls his neighbors. 

He long ago abandon his appointment as shipmate; It just wasn't for him. But it brought him here, _so he doesn't regret his past._

"Good afternoon, Forde."

Forde looks up from his meal, following the voice of the delivery man who he so often entrusts his letters to get mailed to and from his brother with.

"Mornin' to you, too!" Forde answers cheerily.

"It's not _'morning'_ anymore." He laughs, getting off from his horse.

"I suppose that's true." Forde realizes. "But I don't have anything to give you today; So, _sorry if that's what you're after."_

"Actually, no. There is something I have to ask of you. You see, most of the heavy-weight lifters and post riders are away today. And I have urgent business with the town over... I have to deliver some medical supplies. I _originally_ had a stock to deliver to the keeper of the lighthouse down on the coast, but I won't be able to make it."

...Just because Forde doesn't _regret_ his past, _doesn't mean he wants to **recall** it._

Is he about to ask _Forde_ to be the one to deliver it!?

Forde wouldn't have a problem with that at all, truthfully... If only he wasn't trying so hard to avoid that _exact_ shore that saved his life.

The exact light from the exact house that he followed just before he nearly drowned.

He fears if he sees it again: Then he won't be able to escape this time.

"C-can't the tender wait a day?" Forde tries at a bargain.

"I... well... he _could_..." The rider looks to the ground, shaking his head. "But... I know you are capable... You're always doing whatever small jobs you can pick up. I know it might make you uncomfortable to go _back_ there, but..."

He sighs, pausing, and then looks Forde in the eyes to finish what he's asking.

"It's only about an hour from here on horseback. All you have to do is drop the goods off. You see... we suspect he's a little... _well..._ anyone that's ever brought him what he needs all agree that years of being exposed to mercury in the mechanisms has likely... _gotten to his head_..."

Forde frowns, knitting his eyebrows together.

"...Are you telling me he's... _crazy_?"

_"No!_ Well.. _. Probably_. But that's why all you have to _do_ is drop the stuff off and leave. You don't even need to talk to him or see him! It shouldn't take you more than two and a half hours to make it there and back."

...Forde had every intention of declining. But if this man is... _sick in the head_. If he's so shamed upon that no one even _greets_ him at his door? He must be living a wretched life.

It's probably not the _same_ person who tended that house back then, anyway; _It's_ _been ten years._

"I'll do it." Forde decides.

"You _will?_ That's great! Because I really should get going." He mounts his horse. "The men at the department will tell you where to go. Just say I sent you; A horse and the supplies should be waiting. _They'll pay you for the trouble,_ too."

He rides away, and Forde walks to the station.

It's not a lot of stuff, he finds out; Once he's arrived and takes a look at the job ahead of him. Just a few loaves of stale bread and crackers; A bag of uncooked rice and grain. It's sad to look at, compared to what Forde's used to. _It looks like a prisoner's provisions._

Having been told where to go: _this small job being kept in his 'capable' hands;_ Forde drops by a stand and buys a copy of yesterday's paper. 

It isn't all that exciting, and Forde'd much rather bring along a new issue of a book, or good, _new_ clothes, or a cultured piece of art; _But it's the least of what he can do on his time constraint._

A supply full of only dry food is depressing enough; So Forde feels he has to bring at least _something_ to give to someone who probably has nothing much left to look forward to.

* * *

When Forde's made his way to the shore, the sand blows into his face; irritating his skin. It's gotten much more overcast since he had left.

Forde would like to make this quick, if at all possible.

To attempt to calm his anxieties, Forde reminds himself that this here is _j_ _ust_ _a beach_. Only a beach. _Like any **other** one._

After tying the horse to a nearby post, Forde knocks a door that seems to have aged well. It doesn't take too long for it to open, but the man on the other side looks alarmed to find another person instead of the wind or an animal scratching on his door.

"Good afternoon. I brought your monthly supplies--" Forde begins before swiftly being cut off.

" _Leave them."_ With bluntness and a cold attitude; This is the very first sort of greeting the tender leaves for Forde.

He goes to shut the door in front of Forde in aggressive haste.

Okay... Maybe not _insane_ , but definitely a little closed-off.

Is he really as lost as Forde was told?

He doesn't look it. He looks worn and tired; Unkempt and disheveled. But to Forde, he doesn't look like he's lost his sanity too far _just_ yet.

"Wait!" Forde grabs a hold of the door before it can be closed. "Don't you need help bringing them in?"

"...Why try and help me after all _this_ time?" The man before Forde talks with a low scratchy tone in the back of his throat.

"Huh...? Oh, _that's right!_ " ...The people before Forde _really_ had all been avoiding this man so much that they wouldn't even _look_ at him? That he can't even _recognize_ what the usual delivery man looks or doesn't look like...?

"This isn't my typical job, by the way. I'm just filling in today--" Forde asks his next question in a soft whisper. "... _No one ever helps you_?" 

"Nnnh... Uh... N- _No,_ they do not. So uhm...I... _I can get it myself_ \--"

His speech patterns are a bit odd, but Forde doesn't think it's because he's crazy. Maybe he just hasn't had anyone to talk to in so long.

_"How long have you been doing this job for_?" Forde blurts out; Tongue getting ahead of his train of thought.

_Damn._ Why did Forde ask that? He wanted to _know..._ maybe. But... Also he _doesn't_ want to know.

For his own peace of mind: It would be best he doesn't find out if this is the same person who brought Forde in a decade ago.

But it doesn't matter, because he has already accidentally asked.

"...12... years?" The man looks confused at hearing this question; Yet he gives a response. "Wh- Why...?"

_12 years._

Forde stands silently dumbfounded for a moment.

It was... him. It _has,_ to be him.

Before Forde stands the man who saved his life; And this man doesn't even realize this.

This man has no idea who Forde is; But he saved his life some ten years ago on a night that started out the same way the sky looks now.

"...That sounds terribly lonely." Forde mutters inbetween a potent feeling of heartbreak and pity for the 12 years he must have endured all on his own.

"...Someone like _y_ _ou_ wouldn't have the slightest idea." He tells Forde; Bitter harshness in his words.

"I-I...well. _No."_ Forde scrambles. This man's right. Forde _doesn't_ have a say. He feels terrible; As if Forde doesn't deserve to stand on this same ground as him. "B-But, it's a good thing I took this job today. You got the chance to see someone!"

He shouldn't have had to suffer alone. _Please at least enjoy my short-lived company here today._ Forde pleads to himself in his head.

"...You don't usually do this?" He looks side to side around them before looking back at Forde. "... _You've_ never brought my stuff before?"

"Not once." Forde confirms.

"Oh, _okay._ In that... case. Uh... _You need to stay here tonight."_

"P-pardon me?" Forde squeals in shock.

"It looks like it's getting bad outside. Stay the night."

"I- I'll be fine! I don't need to--"

"You _will_ stay." There is not exactly malice in this threat, but Forde detects a hint of desperation.

"There's nothing to worry yourself over, It only takes about an hour--" Again, Forde tries to assure.

" _You **are** going to stay_. I insist. I'm not allowing someone to _leave_ when it's dangerous; Especially since this is only your first time doing this job. I'm not about to let you go and get yourself potentially _killed_ because of my own naivety."

...Forde wanted to make this quick. But... He _did_ save Forde's life once.

Maybe he has a point, in urging Forde to stay. Maybe would even be saving it again.

And... Maybe he's just begging because he needs someone nearby for a night.

_Maybe the man really **is** lonely._

"All right..." Forde decides. "I'll go get the goods I brought--"

_"I got it."_ He says in a monotone voice.

He steps from the frame of his door, and walks over to the things Forde had brought. Acting a little more careless than he should be; The horse that isn't even _Forde's_ to _begin_ with acts up in distrust.

"I said let me help--" Forde turns to catch up.

_"Don't bother_." The man heaves a sack of rice over his shoulder.

He's persistent...

"Well _then_... At least; What's your name?" Forde asks.

Turning to look at Forde after having been about ready to head back inside; Forde watches as his face shifts to show a display of pondering confusion.

"...It's... Kyle." Kyle says after he has cleared his throat.

It almost sounds insincere, almost like he has forgotten his own name up until now.

_"Kyle..._ Well, It's, uh-- _It's nice to meet you_ , Kyle..." Forde spontaneously remembers the paper he brought with him. "Oh, That's right! I almost forgot. _I brought you something_."

Forde digs it from the bag around his shoulder, and the moment Kyle seems to be able to tell what it is; He drops all he is holding and tears it from Forde's grasp.

The dull thud of a woven bag echoes on the ground beneath him; Kyle flips through the clippings vigorously, as if there were supposedly something in it he were _looking_ for.

After a few look-overs of the same articles, he instead drops that on the dirt instead; Kyle leans back down to pick up the bag he had dropped.

"You don't even want to read through it?!" 

_"I've seen enough_." Kyle groans.

Forde bends over and picks the newspaper back up. "...I was trying to be nice. Trying to be friendly... _I bought it for you_. You can keep it if you want to read through it later--"

_"There's nothing in it I want to read through_." Kyle grumbles as he heads back inside.

Forde follows Kyle into his house-- or rather-- _shack;_ After he's gathered all of his new supplies.

It's dark in here, Forde learns. It's musty.

How could anyone _survive_ like this? Forde wonders. Forde would even pay to have to _not_ do this job.

Forde extends his hand among the shadows, another wave of worry over Kyle's dreary lifestyle crashing in on his emotions.

"I... my name's Forde." He offers Kyle.

If he's going to stay here for the night, then he should at _least_ introduce himself properly.

Kyle stares at his hand-- looks away-- and blinks. " _Never heard **that** one befor_e..." Kyle mumbles, and were it not for how close these quarters are, Forde would have _surely_ missed it.

Kyle leaves him to sit on a desk chair, reclining his legs crossed over one another on a nearby table.

Denied by Kyle, Forde drops his hand at his side without a shake.

_You have company_... _company that **you** demanded stay here...._ Forde considers saying aloud.

Why is Kyle so... _casual...?_

"What are you doing...?" Forde inquires; The heavy, awkwardly quiet air is not suitable for him.

_"Calculating."_

"...What, exactly?" Forde hums.

"How much fuel I'll need for tonight." Kyle jots down illegible script with ink. "I'm busy. So if you must stay _tonight,_ then _leave me in peace and quiet."_

"..."

...What? _He_ was the one that told Forde to stay...?

Forde doesn't know what to do, so he looks around in the dimness. There are a lot of books on the shelves; But almost all of them are caked under a thick layer of dust. Kyle has probably read them all, cover to cover, Forde concludes. Kyle has probably already read them each more than once to the point where one day; He grew tired of the same words and decided to _never pick them up again._

If not that... Then Kyle needs to have _some_ way to fend off boredom; _And if it's not in reading_ , Forde sees that it must be something else; _Carving._

That being said, maybe Kyle _is_ a little crazy; Because on the desk where he writes: Is a stack of small figurines.

Actually, It's safer to say that it's... A _mountain_ of them.

"Did you make these?" Forde asks, reaching over to inspect one closer. _It's too dark to see without picking one up_. Forde wonders how Kyle made them in such low lamp light.

_"Yes."_

Kyle seems annoyed, _but he still answers._

They're... _intricate_ little things. They look really well-crafted, actually. Fine lines in a bird's wing, the droop on a dog's eyes. 

Forde picks up another. This next one is a person. 

The people, as Forde begins to discover while picking them up and looking through those: Don't display the same quality as the animals. They're disproportionate, and asymmetrical. 

_Maybe Kyle hasn't seen another person in so long that he doesn't even remember what they look like_. Forde considers.

"...Foolish question, I assume." Forde announces. " _Of course you did_. Sorry for asking."

Forde's about to put them back where he found them, when he notes a sheet of paper under a handful of the wooden sculptures.

In familiar writing, from the parts he can make out that aren't under clutter, reads;

**_Please do not forget me._ **

...Forde remembers writing out a message one day ten years ago. He remembers exactly the way he _felt_ when he wrote it. He remembers the feelings and rash emotion and _fear_ that all went through his head. 

But he remembers only one single _line_ of what he actually wrote; The rest of the note's composition have all been long forgotten.

But he remembers that _one_ line. That _one_ final _plea_ he cried out in hopes that he wouldn't be forgotten; Because in the end he thankfully _wasn't_. In the end he was spared. And everyday that he lives in bliss amongst the village, he is grateful for his wish taking action.

Forde doesn't think; Instead he grabs the letter off of the desk and reads over it in a quivering haste. A collection of wood and quills clatter on their sides.

_There's no way this is--_

"H-Hey! _What are you_ \--!" Kyle starts shouting in the darkness.

Forde skims it over _, and it is._ It's his own script _._ _This is the letter Forde had written when he was so full of terror._

" _How long have you had this!?"_ Forde mirrors Kyle's loudness.

"Wh-What?"

"When did you _find_ this?" Cries Forde inbetween his shock. 

"It- It- It washed up around ten years ago! Now... c- _c_ _ould you put it back?_ " Kyle whines as he puts down his pen, and tries to take the note from Forde.

Forde backs away, not letting him reach him. 

_Ten years ago_. It washed up that _quickly?_ On the same shore _he_ did?

And Kyle has kept it _all this time?_

" _I_ wrote this." Forde lets out. He wasn't planning on telling Kyle he saved his life, but he can't help but at least admit he wrote this letter.

Forde can't say more than that, though... can he? Kyle doesn't yet need to know his work protected him back _then,_ too.

But he is so astonished that the message found its way here that he has to say _something._

"I know!" Kyle's voice sounds choked. " _G_ _ive it back!"_

What?

...He... _knows?_

"...You've had this in your possession for _ten years?"_ Forde-- still in shock-- ignores Kyle's comment for the time being.

"Y-Yes! Now could you for just _once_ in my life let me get my work done when a storm is on the horizon?"

Kyle approaches closer, and reaches for the height Forde had brought it to in trying to keep him from taking it back.

Kyle gets a hold of it; In a second his eyes widen after he's brushed Forde's hand, and then he jumps back with a hitched breath.

" _You're real."_ Kyle whispers.

"....H-Huh?" Forde questions.

"You're real." Kyle steps closer once more. This time, he aggressively grabs Forde's face and starts _feeling_ over the side of his neck and arms. _"_ Y- _You're real."_

"Y-y-yes!? I _told_ you! I wrote--"

"You're _alive."_ Kyle interrupts in skeptical wonder.

"Uh, Of course...? I'm standing right--"

" _I'm not hallucinating again_." Kyle mutters as he pauses the stroke of his hands; Then blushes. Then he backs away once more when he realizes _what he was just doing._

Never mind the small invasion of personal space... He said 'hallucinating'? ...He _hallucinates?_

_Crazy..._ Forde remembers. Everyone has been calling him _'crazy.'_

"It's... It's really you? _You_ were the one who wrote that message?" Kyle mumbles, shaking as he falls to his knees.

"Uh, Yes. _I did_. I never thought it actually _landed_ anywhere--" Forde offers.

Kyle puts his head in his hands and starts bawling.

"What-- What's the matter!?" Forde abruptly squeaks.

Did Forde do something _wrong_ here?

"I thought you were _dead!_ I thought I _killed_ you!" Kyle looks up at Forde. He looks so troubled. " _No wonder you look so much different this time than how I usually imagine..."_

Kyle brings himself to stand back up. "Your name... Is so _different_ , too. You're.. _. real this time."_

Kyle reaches out again; As if to confirm one final time that the person in front of him has a physical body. Real warmth and being and presence.

Kyle's first gesture, abrupt and alarming; Forde can admit was a bit frightening. But he thinks he understands now; _Kyle's not crazy_. Kyle has just been haunted for ten years by the likes of someone's face who he never even had the chance to see.

By the likes of _Forde._

Forde now without complication allows Kyle to adjust the angle of his face; To feel the muscles in his arms; To run his palms over the curve of his shoulders.

It feels strange, feeling the touch of someone he's only just met. _But it's the least of what Forde can do for him._

Not only did Kyle's work show him where to go ten years ago-- But Kyle _also hasn't forgotten--_ For ten years to the point where it drove him _mad._

"You're real..." Kyle repeats, one last time. And then his eyes widen, and he turns around and sweeps the collection of figurines shaped to look like people into a drawer.

"W-Why are you--"

"You _don't need to see those."_ Kyle says.

"I... already did?"

" _They don't look anything like you_!"

"..."

_What!?_

Oh. _It's worse than Forde thought_. Kyle **_is_** actually so lost that he's been trying to re-create what he would assume Forde to _look_ like?

"Have I... been tormenting you behind the scenes for a decade?" Forde brings his voice down so as not to encourage further alarm or stress.

_"What?"_ Kyle turns back. "N-No. I just didn't want someone to die because of an error on my fault."

His _fault?_ What? He _saved_ Forde's _life!_

"You kept someone you didn't even _know_ in your memory... all that time?"

"That's... what I was asked to do..." Replies Kyle.

Yeah, well... _Maybe._ But Kyle seems to have taken it to the extreme.

"You remembered me all this time...? Dear God. I am _so sorry._ I can't begin to ever apologize enough. I am so sorry for putting you through _hell..._ even ten years later. I am so sorry to have ruined your life after you saved mine."

_"S-Saved?"_ Kyle looks confused _. "_ I didn't _save_ your life. All I did was do what you asked--"

"If you were working here 12 years ago, _you_ were probably working this station. If you were working this station even just _ten_ years ago, then it was the light from _your_ post that I found when my ship sank; Only a couple of miles from where I thought would be my grave... _I thought I was as good as dead_. And then dusk fell and with it came the signal of your light; And it turned out I wasn't as far away from land as I had thought. I swam, tired as I was; And the following morning, a few miles down the coast from where we stand now, a messenger bringing you your goods found me and carried me into town."

Kyle stands still.

"I never reported much--" Forde continues. "And I never found anything about the bottle I threw overboard; So I assumed no one would ever find it in my life-time... But you seemed to have. _And You saved my life."_

"Are... Are you happy!? Are you married? Do you have a wife? Do you work a profession you enjoy? Do you have any children? Do you get along with--" 

Kyle hammers out a lot of questions into the silence all at once.

"Hah! _Yes,_ I'm happy. I haven't gotten married, no. And I don't have a _sole_ job on its _own._ But... I _am_ very happy."

Forde almost feels evil in admitting this. He really _has_ been happy; Never taking a day for granted these past ten years. He maybe even should have had valid reason to be scared of the waters after nearly dying in them; But all he can do is be thankful that he didn't.

Forde feels evil. This whole time he has been living a fulfilling life; While a man, alone and dirty, has hardly been living his.

" _So you've lived a good life_...?" Kyle knits his eyebrows. "... _Thank God."_

_"_ L _-Lived?_ I'm _still_ living a good life! My life's not _over!_ I'm not even middle aged yet... _Give **that** a couple of years._" Forde chuckles awkwardly. "I still _have_ half a life to live, thanks to you.

"I- _Is that so_...?" Kyle speaks so softly. "It's not over yet...? _**My l**_ ** _ife..._** isn't... _**over...** _yet...?"

_"Huh?"_

"N-N-Nothing! You're really alive...?" It almost looks like Kyle wants to cry tears of joy. "I'm so... _glad."_

"You don't need to be _glad!_ It seems I have terrified you for years."

**"Thank you."** Kyle tells him; Looking Forde dead in the eyes. _Not allowing his thanks to go unheard._

Soot paints Kyle's brow and grease is collected under his fingernails... _It's a shame he's been working so demandingly for so long_. Forde gets the idea that someone so committed would have made for a very good husband or friend to someone.

"Don't thank me." Forde tries.

Kyle reaches out, holds Forde's hands in his own. _"Thank you."_ Kyle repeats, ignoring what Forde's asked him not to say.

"Before I read your note, I wanted to die." Kyle proceeds to admit. "Everyday I thought about ending my life _. I felt so alone_. But when I read it, I couldn't bear to imagine someone else out there who may have been feeling as alone as I did; Being swept away with the tide to not even have _one single person_ to remember them by. I **_had_** to remember you. I'm so happy I'm still here... I'm so happy I got to see _you're **still alive."**_

Kyle lets go and takes a seat; Smiling so crookedly that Forde thinks Kyle has forgotten how to do so, and smiles now for the first time in forever.

"I think I'll be able to get some sleep tonight, as stormy as it looks to be getting; Without my awful dreams waking me up... _for the first time in ten years_." Kyle muses almost peacefully.

By nightfall, once Kyle has done his usual preparations at the top of the structure, and he believes he can finally get in an hour or two of sleep; Forde watches as Kyle sleeps soundly without so much as stirring.

* * *

"I'll see if I can convince them to allow me to bring your supplies next month as well." Forde laughs as he walks ahead further into the sand.

The sky is back to being clear again this morning. Forde should have no trouble getting home.

Kyle watches as Forde inhales the salty air, turning to overlook the calm waters.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kyle hears Forde's soft hum travel in the wind.

"... _It really is._ " Kyle agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goddd i made him so touch starved im sorry kyle im love u i swear even if i convey u in pain and memes constantly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> (side note...bu t everytime anything i wr*te gets so much as even one hit i just...what is wrong with you, man. sorry if u expected anything coherent or good)

**Author's Note:**

> me @ every conceptual thing ever every day of my life: 
> 
> what if it was Forde And Kyle?
> 
> (eric andre sounds idk ive only seen the meme in screenshots idk what the video sounds like )


End file.
